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by Paralelsky



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Adoption, Adult!John, Family, Fluff, Gen, kid!Sherlock, parental!John
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-23
Updated: 2014-03-23
Packaged: 2018-01-16 18:45:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1357990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Paralelsky/pseuds/Paralelsky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With Sherlock Holmes as his kid, John is never bored. </p>
<p>Inspired by the amazing Not Leaving by oleanderhoney</p>
            </blockquote>





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**Author's Note:**

  * For [oleanderhoney](https://archiveofourown.org/users/oleanderhoney/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Not Leaving](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1151563) by [oleanderhoney](https://archiveofourown.org/users/oleanderhoney/pseuds/oleanderhoney). 
  * Inspired by [Not Leaving](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1151563) by [oleanderhoney](https://archiveofourown.org/users/oleanderhoney/pseuds/oleanderhoney). 



> Ever since this January I've fallen head first into the Sherlock fandom, reading far too many amazing stories to count. They eventually led me to oleanderhoney's series The colour of light (where she writes an amazing Jane Watson = female John) and her latest story Not leaving. I read it in a go, and after that I couldn't stop thinking about it, and all the possibilities that she opened up in the verse and so this one-shot was born.
> 
> Not Brit-picked and not beta-ed. Just my appreciation for a very good storyteller. :)

“Sherlock!” John calls, irritation clear in his tone. He’s just come home from an entire day of whining kids, worried mothers and two hypochondriacs to find all the ceramic in their house filled with what looked like soil samples. He prods one cup with a tired finger, the earth immediately clinging to his skin. Yep, humid soil samples, from the looks of it.

“Sherlock!” He calls a bit more sharply when the first shout remains unheeded. On cue, a mop of riotous curls peeks out of the bedroom door, while their owner answers with a touch  of bewilderment, ”Yes, John?”

“Sherlock, what did I tell you about your experiments?” John asks, voice mostly patient. He watches with amusement as the emotions play on his adopted son’s expressive face, starting with incomprehension and then quickly ending into the ‘oh bugger!’ zone. When Sherlock speaks, it’s almost a mumble, “Not to do them in the kitchen?”

“Yes, so what’s all this?” John says while gesturing at their dirty pottery.

Sherlock gulps and then he’s suddenly a flurry of motion and words, “I could, perhaps, straighten up. But John, I needed to test the exact conditions for beans to grow more quickly.” And as he launches into more explanations than strictly necessary, John is left to wonder how does simple science experiment on the development of plants degenerate into measurements of soil acidity and compost composition while also involving all the good china in the house. Then a horrifying thought makes him butt into the explanations provided. “Sherlock, my tea mug,” he says almost despairingly.

Sherlock stops, looks around and with a scowl that translates into ' _what do you take me for' ,_ he retrieves the mug from the oven. What’s it been doing there, John really doesn’t want to know.

With the mug in his hands, John lets out a tired sigh, while Sherlock, finally silent, watches him intently. “I guess that could leave it all here until it’s over.” John says in the end, while thinking that moving all the cups would spell a bigger mess for the entire apartment than the one contained only to the kitchen. “But Sherlock, the next time you want to do something similar, please talk to me before you start it. Alright?”

“Yes, John.” Sherlock answers, a tiny smile just curling his lips, and then he dashes back into his room, with John barely having the time to pat him gently on the head.

There’s nothing to it, John thinks while shaking his head at the state of his kitchen, they will have to order take away again and eat it in the living room.  With that in mind he starts to make some fresh tea and then, feeling a bit peckish, he opens the fridge only to stop once again in his tracks.

“Sherlock!” he calls again, ready for another round of convoluted explanations.  At least, home is never boring.


End file.
